Primordial

I have one Desire
let it be
a Pestilence upon your lands
a Plague upon all your houses
it is my wish
to Enslave all your people
The soil enriched with their Blood
To Burn your places of Worship
Our Gods shall become your Gods
All that lives on the vine is rotten
may your wines be foul
and your bread as the flesh of the dead
an ill wind to bring nought but decay